Dawn's Darkest Hour

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Native Dawn Series Book 19.
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msnomer68
msnomer68
297 Followers

114 chapters plus epilogue. Everyone in the story is specifically stated as being eighteen years old or older.

*****

Prologue

The Great Father wound his way through the destruction sickened by the death around him. A once thriving village lay in a heap of smoldering ruins. The bodies of brave men who had fought to protect their families were scattered like chaff to the wind. Hands stiff and cold with death clutched weapons. As if the spirit once departed would reanimate the lifeless corpse and take up the cause of defense. Not even the women and children, nor the very wise and old, were spared. None were left alive.

The Shaman examined the bodies, hoping to find but one with life still in his veins amongst the dead. He found no pulse or lingering breath of life. "I am sorry, old friend," he said. The regret in his voice made the statement from his lips meaningless and ill timed. "We arrived too late to help them."

The Great Father threw off the offer of comfort and knelt beside the body of a young boy. His lifeless, spindly fingers rested on the bloodstained wooden handle of a pitchfork. The limp body of his mother lay face down in the hard packed earth a few feet away. The deaths were senseless and so needless. Most of the bodies had not been completely drained of blood. Murderers without conscience or souls had done this out of greed and selfish desire. These people hadn't been hunted for food, but for sport. The Great Father slid the boy's lifeless eyes closed and rose to his feet. "Light the pyres so that we may set their souls free. Perhaps, they may find comfort and safety on the other side of the Great River."

The boy's body was stiff and cold in his arms. The Great Father carried the lifeless corpse out of the village and laid him atop the unlit pyre. He studied the boy's face. One day the child might have grown up to be a great warrior. Now, he would never get the chance. Regret gripped his heart at the loss of lives and that the brothers had arrived too late and done too little. Vengeance had to be served. He vowed to the still child in his arms and to the dead gathered around the pyre. "A life for a life. They took yours and in retribution I will take theirs."

"My son, heavy is your burden. Perhaps more than you can bear. I charged you with a great duty. Your heart grows weary with the task. If I could, I would spare you and your Sons all of this and deliver you to your rest."

The Great Father dropped to one knee and bowed his head. His goddess stood before him. Her form ethereal form shimmered on the rays of dawn like mists rising from a deep pond of still water. "Will any ever know peace?"

"As long as evil walks the earth, I fear not. Search for the ones who commit these atrocities and bring them to an end. There are those born of tainted blood with a heart to do good instead of evil. Even in darkness, light must pass and in light shadows must fall."

The voice of the Goddess stroked over him like thousands of brushing fingertips. He squinted up at the glimmering image. "How am I supposed to know what is good and what is evil when all I see is this darkness around me?"

The goddess stroked the silvery fur of her wolf and stared down at the man kneeling before her. She felt pity for him. He was called to serve a purpose beyond that of mortal man. Born of flesh and bone and birthed by blood and pain. He was cursed by the very darkness he battled to destroy. "I can not tell you. You must search that answer out for yourself."

The Great Father clenched his hands in to fists. "I smell the blood and I wage a far greater war within myself than I ever would with these fiends. How can I know the difference between light and dark when they both exist within me! Set my feet on the journey. Take me across the Great River. I can no longer bear this thing that I am! Deliver me from this death. Choose another."

"My son, I can not extinguish the flame that burns within you. It burns brighter than the sun. You must find courage and search out a way to embrace your life and chase out the darkness. If you fail, all is lost, for there is no other but you. Your men, the mighty warriors you have chosen are brave and strong, but, if you will not lead them, they will fall to another master."

"Then there is no hope."

"My son, there is always hope. Whether you choose to seek hope out or abandon your commission is up to you. Be a light to those in darkness. Shine brighter then the most blinding ray. Chase the darkness into the light. Guide the ones that have lost their way. There are many lost in the darkness. You will be the beacon that sets their feet on a better path."

"Can the wolf really be as tame as a dog? Can the great cat be content with scraps from the table? Can one that has gotten drunk on the sweetest vine truly be sated with mere water from the stream? Ours is a hard life. The commission you've given us more than we can bear. We taste, but can never indulge. We see, but yet are blinded by the nature that rages within us. You show me beauty. But, all I've ever seen is waste and ruin."

"Free will is a curse as well as a blessing, my son. There are those born into darkness that long for the light. Be that light."

"My sons long for a day of peace, may we ever strive to see it. I will search out good in evil and draw to me those that seek the same. Deliver us, Grandmother. For guardians, we all are."

"My children, they call." The goddess parted the smoke from the flaming pyres and gathered the spirits of the dead to her side. They swirled around her in thick, tendrils of mist. "I wish you well on your journey, my son. Know that I am always with you. When you grow weak and weary of this commission and doubt your path. In that despair find a renewal for your strength. Lead your sons and those not of your blood. Seek to destroy evil and know that light always illuminates the darkness."

The Great Father watched his goddess ebb and fade into the dawn. The souls of the departed followed her on lofty currents of air. They had suffered and earned their rest. His sons had a long, long journey ahead of them before they found the respite they so desperately sought.

"My Father." The warrior dipped his head. "We've found one."

"Take me to him." The Great Father followed his warrior to the man. The man was on his knees, with his hands tightly clutched over his head. The blade pressed to his throat glimmered in the early morning light. "Who are you?"

"My name? What does it matter?"

"What is your business in this place?" The Great Father eyed the man suspiciously. The Great Father knew what the man was by his scent and his pallid complexion. Automatically, he didn't trust him. The man might be a decoy. The man might have been left behind in the wilderness to fend for himself. The Great Father didn't know. But, one vampire could not have rendered this kind of whole scale slaughter on his own. Innocent or guilty, the man's words would speak for the man.

"I've been tracking this group for months." His adam's apple scraped along the razor sharp edge of the blade pressed against his throat as he swallowed. One move and he was as dead as the villagers around him. "I've come to stop them."

"Why?"

"Because, someone has to."

Chapter 1

David had sinned many, many, times in his brief stay on this planet. He had much to atone for. When he thought about it, twenty-seven years wasn't that much time to tally up such a grand total of dark sins as he had managed to accrue. He did everything, EVERYTHING, to balance out the scales more in his favor. If...no...when judgment day came... he sure as hell wanted the scales of judgment tipped to the positive instead of the negative.

As a virtual immortal, it was hard to think in terms of hell and damnation. He was already there. He lived it everyday. He wanted to be the good boy his mother and father had put their faith in years ago. No matter what he did, no matter how many old ladies he helped across the street, how many cats he rescued out of trees, or how many shitty assignments he volunteered for. He didn't feel good and he wasn't a good boy either. At. All.

He was a killer and always would be, end of story. Oh, he wasn't one of those seething idiots that sucked victim after victim dry and left the bodies like crumpled fast food wrappers tossed to the curb. He liked his head right where it was. Firmly attached to his neck, and the neck, affixed to his body. He wasn't stupid. He knew the rules and he sure as hell wasn't suicidal. If anything, he wanted to put off the Day of Reckoning for as long as he could.

No, his sin wasn't one of greed, or lust, or sloth. In this day and age, those were misdemeanors, warranting a mere slap on the spiritual wrist. His was a felony that carried a life sentence and perhaps, no, undoubtedly, one well into the afterlife. He had done far worse than one of the seven deadlies. He'd betrayed someone he loved and delivered her into the hands of death. His sister trusted him to keep her safe and well, hadn't he done a real botch job of that. As surely as she burned in the fiery pits of Hell, at least it was some reassurance that someday, he'd be there right along with her. Nope, he wasn't in any hurry to die. Luckily, he had a lot of time on his side.

This assignment was maybe one of the shittiest assignments he'd ever volunteered for. But, he was perfect for the job. David looked at the magazine cut out taped to his bathroom mirror and added some more gel to his hair. He untucked his Ed Hardy t-shirt and wrinkled the hem with his fingers. He studied the model in the picture and gauged his expression to match the pouting, despondency of teenage angst. Oh yeah, his look was perfect. Ok, so maybe he wasn't quite James Dean, Rebel Without a Cause worthy, like the guy in the glossy magazine ad. But, he was good enough for high school and to pass for the teenager he'd once been ten years ago.

The thought ran chills up his spine. High school. He hadn't graduated the first time thanks to a sudden condition called death or rather, as he preferred chronically undead. He was going back to high school, like a lamb into the mouth of a lion. Braver men had mumbled excuses and ran from this assignment like it was the plague. Not him. If ever any act could cleanse away at least some of the stain on his soul, going back to high school was it.

David flipped open his wallet and studied the picture on the driver's license. The ID was as fake as a lap dancer's silicone implants. It would do though. According to the BMV, he was David Russ, age eighteen. He lived in a quiet suburban neighborhood on the city's south side and he was smack dab in the middle of his senior year.

At least one fact on the card was accurate. His name was David. Whoever else he'd been ten years ago, at the tender age of barely eighteen, had died when a whim of curiosity had taken him to a dark corner of downtown and into the never ending darkest chapter of his life.

When he'd actually been in high school. He was the exact opposite of the cocky jackass who stared back at him from the mirror's reflection. His hair was shorter then. His clothes neat and wrinkle free. As for his soul, it had been pure as an infant's. He had been the living breathing definition of the word geek. His only ambition in life had been to steal a kiss from his high school sweetheart. Only she'd never known he'd existed. Mainly because he'd been too ball less to ask her out. Maybe, if he'd worked up the courage to steal that kiss. He would have stayed home that dark December night instead of venturing into downtown determined to make a man out of himself.

Dark eyes met his gaze. Their stare was as hard and cold as steel. These weren't the eyes of an eighteen-year-old kid about to embark on life's great adventure. These were the eyes of someone who had already lived life and had thoroughly gotten their ass kicked by it. There was nothing he could do to change the dark expression reflected in the mirror. Except hope the hardness in his eyes didn't blow his cover.

He only had to stick around long enough to find out who was dealing and where the supply was coming from. Pink. The name was innocuous enough to make one think of fuzzy Easter bunnies or pretty flowers on a summer day. But, it had a more sinister definition and purpose. The drug was in his city, flooding his streets, and poisoning his kids. Once he found out who the source was. He'd put an end to it, for good.

Pink was cheap, easy to make, and impossible to trace in the human blood stream. Pink didn't kill by accidental overdose. It made its users feel good, damn good. They ran faster, worked harder, and could go for days and days without sleep. Pink was a perfect drug, if not for the side effects. Pink wore away at a person's soul, degrading it little by little until only a shell of the former self remained. The problem was. The user didn't realize the danger until it was too late.

Pink had found its way from the dark, dingy corners of the city and into the suburbs and quiet communities outside the reach of the inner city. Where people felt safe. Pink was in the high schools and colleges, in the shopping malls, and clubs. Pink was everywhere and everyone wanted more.

Modern forensics couldn't identify exactly what pink was or how it worked. But, David could. He knew all too well what pink was; vampire blood, pure and uncut. Once taken from the vein and dried. The blood was ground into a powder and sifted into little glass vials. The dried crystals turned a brilliant, innocuously, harmless looking shade of dark pink, almost fuchsia. Add a bit of food grade glitter, and viola, the perfect designer drug; cheap, sweet, pretty, easy to use, and highly addictive.

David envied the vampire who first envisioned the idea. Envied and pitied him. When this vampire was found. There wouldn't be enough scraps of him left to identify the body. This drug was so much more than the good time it promised its faithful users. The drug linked the vampire to those who ingested his vile poison.

This vampire knew everything about his users, strengths, weaknesses, addresses, phone numbers, bank account passwords, everything. The vampire had more information than the CIA on hundreds, maybe thousands of people. They and their information were his, to do with what he wished. He could sift the choicest of the harvest from the rest of the crop and reap the yield one by one, or worse, turn the whole lot. This drug was the spark of the start of a very dangerous fire. This fire, if left unchecked, could consume the whole world and all those in it. David and the rest of the Guardians meant to stomp the sparking embers out long before it got that far.

David had but one small part to play in the bigger whole. He intended to play it well. He was going to find out who was selling Pink to the high school kids and put him out of commission. Permanently. And maybe in the process, earn a bit of salvation for his damned soul. Who knew? Maybe he'd enjoy high school more the second time around. Maybe, he'd go to prom, football games, or even graduate this time.

He slung a worn backpack over his right shoulder and practiced his walk. Walking like a human, in the clumsy, awkward steps of a teenager was difficult. He looked human enough. He looked like every other suburban teen, bored and despondent. But, he had to play the part as well as look it. He stepped out of his bedroom and walked down the narrow hallway of his mock set up. The house, the furniture, the beat up Mazda in the driveway, it was all part of the act. For a short while, he'd live the life that had been robbed of him years ago.

Bianca couldn't help the snicker that escaped her perfectly shaped lips. "You certainly don't look like honor society material." She eyed the man transformed back into a boy with amusement. He slouched and stuffed a hand in his pocket after shooting her the bird. His jeans were frayed in places and looked like he'd slept in them for a week. The jacket hung loosely on his narrow shoulders and bunched at his wrists. The hem of his faded t-shirt draped over his lean hips. His shoes were scuffed and worn. He reeked of cheap cologne. His dark walnut hair was molded into an unruly mass that curled wildly around his ears and at the nape of his neck. They'd spent days at the mall, studying their subjects. David looked like he'd just walked out of a food court. He was almost too perfect.

"And you certainly don't look like mother of the year either," David shot back. Bianca wore her black hair in its usual coiffed French twist. Her immaculately tailored pantsuit didn't come off any rack, at least not locally. The blouse silk blouse revealed far too much of her better attributes. Her shoes were straight out of a designer magazine. She looked more like she should be on a board of directors than making cookies for the PTA bake sale. She was filling the part of his mother when and if the occasion called for it. Since he was not yet enrolled in school. Today she had to play the part, convincingly.

Bianca gathered up her Gucci handbag with a huff and slung it over her shoulder. She had overdressed, a little, but denim and cheap cotton? Her feet did not belong in sneakers. For her, pretending to be a Suburbanite house frau was difficult. She could not understand the subject she was meant to copy. In her day, women entertained themselves in the pursuit of a husband. They did not jog. They did not think. And labor was left to servants. They found a good man and married well. If not, well there were far more nefarious occupations for them to engage in that required no education and very limited vocabulary. She had applied herself to her study, but found the role of the W.A.S.P. almost nauseating. "Come along son, we don't want to be late for school."

"Coming mother," David said, his voice loaded with sarcasm. The odd thing, for all intensive purposes, in this life at least, Bianca was his mother. Her blood had frozen his body into a state of suspended animation and perpetual, never-ending death. He'd gone to downtown that night, years ago, to put an end to his virginity. Being eighteen and hopelessly dateless, he had suffered the brunt of too many jokes. At her hands, he lost a lot more than his innocence and learned more of the world than what he ever wanted to know.

Chapter 2

"Do you have something to report?" Carter didn't bother to turn his gaze from the dazzling skyline on the other side of the heavily tinted glass. Morning brought the end to one set of nightmares and the beginning to another. At night, surrounded in the darkness, it was easy to pretend that he was still in the arms of someone he loved. In the day, he had to face reality. His past, his long, long past, had come home to bite him in the ass, and the only thing he could do now, was deal with it.

"Sir," the guard stammered. "I only wanted to say that it's good to have you back."

Carter turned from his window and glowered at the guard. "I only wish I could say that it was good to be back. Nevertheless, thank you for the sentiment." He watched the guard hastily bow and scuffle off. The Guardians were wary and nervous around him and he couldn't blame them. He was a real son of a bitch these days. He lowered his long body into the desk chair and surveyed the reports scattered on his desk. The city had not faired well in his absence nor had his men. In that aspect, and only in that aspect, was he glad to be back. He would pull his city off her big, glittery ass and set her back to rights again.

There was the usual shit pile to deal with. For all her glitz and sparkling lights, his city had the stink and stain of depravity deep in her underpinnings. Drugs were in his city. The bitch was a greedy one and never ceased to amaze him. Pink, it sounded so harmless. When he found the bastard supplying the blood, he'd rip him apart limb by limb with his bare hands and leave his innards drying on the pavement. His Guardians were on it. In time, justice would be doled out with a swift hand. While he waited, he had other things to entertain his weary mind.

msnomer68
msnomer68
297 Followers